Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #456: Tragic

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Losing Sam

No one ever died in the South—
they simply passed away.
Her son hadn’t been killed,
but rather,
she had lost him in an accident.
When she wished him away from Heaven
and back to Earth,
it was only hope she experienced—
the hem of his coat as he went out the door,
the sound of his footsteps in the hall after a night out,
the smell of Axe that lingered in his bedroom.
In every sense but the physical,
he was there,
but the tragedy was that his memory
lived on in the form of a shadow
in which her daughter lived.

http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-456

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Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #455: Magic

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Abra Cadaver

Her husband had been an illusionist,
playing credit card tricks,
pulling Playboy bunnies out of hats,
& penetrating her with knives
only she felt, but no one could see.
He was a Houdini who bound not himself,
but herself,
with the ties of matrimony.
Before she got to pull her disappearing trick,
he finished her off with his
final
disappearing
act.

http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-455

Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #452: Game

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For the Non-Gamer

She watched “Wheel of Fortune” to make herself feel smart,
“Jeopardy” to humble herself,
& “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” to realize that anyone
could be one.

http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-452

For board game lovers:  https://sarahleastories.com/2017/12/04/mondays-will-be-different-sweet-little-nothings/

For “Wheel of Fortune” lovers:  https://sarahleastories.com/2015/09/02/writers-digest-wednesday-poetry-prompt-321-theme-gripe/

For “Clue” lovers (or “Cluedo,” as its known in the United Kingdom):  https://sarahleastories.com/2015/05/01/poem-a-day-writers-digest-challenge-30-theme-bury-the-blank/

 

Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #450: Something Wrong

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Gone Girls

When she was 16
& saw all the pretty young girls
on TV who disappeared,
she thought of herself.
When she was 36
& saw the same still happening—
their once lovely flesh as cold as ice,
or brittle as ash,
their lovely bones sometimes
never found—
she thought of her daughter,
many years down the dark road,
knowing there would come a day
when she would have to let her go
to find her own way,
praying that no one would be
waiting for her
or happen upon her
to stop her.

http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-450